


To Be Kinder

by Cookiecats



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Basically they are best friends and pining, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Multi, also we stan mandy always, it hurts but it ends good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookiecats/pseuds/Cookiecats
Summary: To Mickey, Christmas never meant much. There wasnt anything to celebrate in the Milkovich household, and certainly no gifts or tradition other than substance abuse. Spending the holiday with his sister and the Gallaghers may change that for him though. If he can survive spending it with Ian, his best friend who he is madly in fucking love with.Or: College AU where Ian and Mickey met at a university and then spend Christmas break at the Gallaghers. Did I mention they are in love with each other?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Milkovich & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is gonna start out so slow and we wont get the Gallagher family until like chapter 3 oops, I just wanted to set up some feelings and establish where Ian and Mickey are with each other. Also if Mickey is a little out of character don't mind it, this is set in the future so he has learned emotional intelligence and love acceptance somewhere with mandy before this takes place.

Mickey was stupid.

He was so stupid, so incredibly foolish that he just had to laugh. The sound that came out of him sounded hollow and tasted bitter, but it at least released some of the pressure from his aching chest. Though he was afraid that if he dared to open his mouth again, he wouldn’t be able to control what came out. He figured that it shouldn’t hurt this much, to like someone. Though in his own private thoughts he didn't have to deny anything. To  _ love _ someone. He stopped lying to himself a long time ago; resigned himself to keeping his mouth -and his ever traitorous heart -  _ shut _ . But he finds himself here again, sitting in a dark room illuminated only by the screen of his phone, cold and numb with his heart being torn open for the same reason as the other million times he found himself here.

Mickey has grown over the last year, even he can recognize that. He was nowhere near done or anything resembling perfect; but he was better than he was last year. He had changed out of his own free will and with guidance from those who he could now admit were his friends. Yet, sitting here open and raw and aching, Mickey wonders if anything changed at all. 

He thought he was past it, he really thought he was. He moved on, and it didn't even hurt to think about it anymore. But then Ian told him he loved him; and if he was smarter he wouldn't have listened. If he were smarter he wouldn't have let it make his heart race. He wouldn't have been so unbelievably tempted to let Ian kiss him, drunk off his ass and laughing. He wouldn't have let it give him hope. Wouldn't have let the fact that he didn't mean it- not the way Mickey wanted him to- crush him. Because Ian was drunk and Mickey was the only one around at the time, and drinking makes Ian flirty. Mickey was at the very least wise enough to cut himself off after a couple drinks while Ian drank at least three more. 

He doesn't remember how relationships got brought up, but he knows his own hubris is what took it too far. He remembers asking why Ian's last relationship went bad; he remembers Ian telling him that he had a crush on him when he first met him, how it stroked Mickey’s ego but didn't give him satisfaction. That was a long time ago, and Ian is very prone to fleeting crushes on all sorts of people. But once Mickey had set the ball rolling, it was impossible to stop. Ian called him hot, which in itself wasn't new; Ian is generous with compliments, once mentioned that it was his “love language” or some shit like that. But when he said he wanted to make out with Mickey, that's when he began to realize that being there was a very bad idea. 

Mickey changed the subject and drunk Ian was none the wiser, but that didn't stop Ian from saying it again a few times after that. A small part of Mickey was tempted, and will probably never not be, to let Ian have what he said he wanted. But the bigger and more rational part of him was already forming escape plans; except for when Ian mentioned that he would also like to make out with Eddie, the guy who worked with him at the coffee shop he currently worked at. Which not only made Mickey’s heart twinge in jealousy, but also solidified a theory that he had rolling around his head. Ian didn't actually mean what he was saying, only touchy from the alcohol because he had  _ long _ since been over his one week crush on Eddie. 

Mickey had redirected Ian to the living room after that, set on putting on a movie so they didn't have to speak anymore. He had foolishly thought he was in the clear until he heard a dreamy voice drift up from the floor where Ian was laying.

“I love you Mickey, so much.” 

It wasn't uncommon for him to say it, they were best friends after all; he had even gotten Mickey to say it back a few times. So Mickey nodded, and turned himself back to trying to figure out Ian’s TV.

“I don't think I love you in a friend way.” 

Mickey’s fingers froze and maybe his heart did too; and they sat in silence for a moment before Ian added, 

“But I would never tell you though.” 

There was already a hot knife being driven into Mickey’s heart, but this added one more. He was too busy overthinking in a hundred different ways to notice Ian drunkenly getting up from the floor and stumbling over to where he was sitting. Not until he was wrapped up in big warm arms and his body was screaming in alarm, red flags and sirens alike going off in his already too-full head. 

“Ian get off me, im trying to work the TV.”

“But you’re so warm and soft… I wanna kiss you so bad” he giggled into the side of Mickey’s head. Panic lashed through him, because with Ian so close he probably wouldn't be able to stop him.

_ Do I even want to stop him? _

The rational part of him came back immediately and flooded him with guilt that spilled down into his guts.  _ How fucking dare I think about taking advantage of him while he’s so drunk. He doesn't actually want this, and who am I to make that decision for him. He would regret it in the morning.  _

Mickey decided right then that he needed to start breaking his habit of getting too caught up in his head because he had been too unfocused to realize Ian was leaning in  until he had felt warm lips press sloppily against his own. Ian had missed the center of his mouth by a bit, but the effect was no less monumental. 

He really shouldn't have agreed to drink with Ian alone. His hands twitched to shove Ian off, but instead he pulled him back into a hug wordlessly. If it was possible, there would be smoke pouring out of his ears from how fast his poor brain was running. Ian kissed his neck affectionately and Mickey felt sick; hot, acid-like shame came up his throat and gripped his heart much too tight. 

_ He doesn't actually want this. I'm just conveniently here. But does he know that I'm madly and desperately in love with him? Would he even want to be this close to me if he knew? He would be disgusted. I’m taking advantage of him. I need to leave.  _

He lifted the both of them up, and placed him gently on the couch adjacent from the one he had just been occupying. Ian whined as Mickey detangled his arms from around his torso and stood back up.

“I'm just getting some water asshole, calm down.” he grumbled as he turned and walked out of the living room. As soon as he reached the safety of the kitchen, he let out a shaky breath as he leaned against the cold granite of the countertops. Closing his eyes, he decided that it was too much to process at the moment and that he needed to just _ focus _ on catching the breath that Ian stole right from his lungs. It took a long time - he knew because he heard Ian whine for him to come back after a while - to calm himself down. To shove everything overwhelming him deep down until it wasn't making his eyes hot with tears anymore.

He needed to get out of here before this went any further, he knew his aching chest could not handle any more than the damage it had already been dealt. But he couldn't just leave Ian here alone in his state, as well as some selfish part of himself didn't want Ian to find someone who  _ would  _ take him up on his kissing offers. So he called one of the only people he could think of who could handle Ian in his inebriated state.

Mandy came through the door without knocking, but Mickey heard her greet Ian warmly and his excited and slurred response. Mickey felt a little guilty leaving all this mess to her, but he had bigger issues to deal with than that right now.

“Why are you hiding in the kitchen, Assface?” he could hear the amusement in her voice, causing the back of his neck to redden. 

“Jus’ got tired of watching him be a dumbass.” 

“You know, you aren't very good at lying. I've known you too long for that.” he laughed under breath, but it didn't hold any of the amusement it did a moment before. The air between them was quiet for a moment, and Mickey reveled in the temporary silence. 

“What did he say?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing. She lifted her hand like she was tempted to touch him, but it dropped back down to her side as she decided against it. 

“Just some usual dumb shit. I’m just fucking  _ tired _ and I wanna go home, but I know that if I left him here alone he would probably do somethin’ stupid or whatever.” he grumbled as he collected his jacket and keys.

“Hey you shouldn't drive if you’ve been drinking too. Do you want me to drive you home real quick?” 

“No… I want to walk.”  _ I need to think. _

She chirped some response while he did his final look around the kitchen to check if he missed anything of his. He felt a weight lift in his head as he finally moved to leave the kitchen, but another weight increase on his heart. 

“Hey Mickey… are you sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me anything if you need to talk.” Mandy offered quietly as he paused in his escape.

“Yeah I fuckin’ know.” He began to move again when she didn't say anything more; but he stopped again just before leaving the kitchen. 

“...Thank you.” he whispered and hoped she understood the unsaid weight of it, and moved into the living room. Now he would just have to say goodbye to Ian, which he already knew wouldn't be easy _in the_ _least_. 

Mickey walked up behind the couch Ian was currently draped on and stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say. The movement, however, was enough to let Ian know he was there as he let out a noise of contentment and reached his arms up towards him. \

“Come sit with me mickyyyyy.” he slurred happily, as if he hadn't just dropped an utterly  _ devastating _ bomb on Mickey’s heart minutes earlier. 

“Can’t. I gotta go take care of shit. I'm heading out now.” 

He didn't wait to hear Ian’s response.

The walk down the driveway was a needed one, pushing him farther from Ian and everything that just happened. He picked up his pace once his feet hit the sidewalk, passing his own car which he made a mental note to pick up tomorrow. 

The night air was cool and fresh against his face, something he was thankful for. It would rain soon, he could feel it in the breeze that tousled his hair and turned his cheeks a flushed pink. 

The quiet noises of the city welcomed him as he strode down street after street, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes stuck ahead. The quiet was _ good, _ the quiet allowed him to think as the cold cleared his head, cutting through the chaos in his mind. He took his time to go over the events of the night, trying to remember what he said that made it all go so wrong so quickly.

He entered his house quietly, practiced, and went straight up the stairs and into his room at the end of the hall. For the first time that night he let out a long breath that turned wobbly and broken at the end. His usual exterior slipped from him before he could catch it, and his eyes began to burn. So that’s how he found himself sitting in the dark, holding a pillow in his lap and stuffing his face into it whenever a less-than-silent sob threatened to come out of him. He would pretend it didn't happen and shove all the feelings that came with it deep down in his mind, and never speak of it again. Mickey knew this game, he played it well; he knew he would play it again the next time Ian made his heart race. 

Mickey was stupid. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's POV
> 
> I like to think Ian is very touchy happy drunk

Loving his best friend wasn't hard; it was the easiest thing he had ever done.  _ Being _ in love with his best friend, however, was the most excruciating thing Ian had ever experienced. But right now that didn't matter because everything was fuzzy and slow, like warm honey and  _ Mickey  _ was there. Mickey looked so pretty sitting there under the yellowish kitchen lights, and all Ian could do was watch his perfect lips move as he talked about.... what was he talking about again?

He tried to get his mind to focus on the words coming out of Mickey’s mouth instead of how the drink between his hands had washed away all the tension in Mickey’s body and how  _ soft _ the words he spoke sounded. Contrary to his usual booming and loud (and  _ manly _ ) voice, here in the privacy of Ian's house, Mickey’s voice was quiet and velvety. Ian wondered in the back of his mind somewhere,  _ has anyone else heard this voice? _ He secretly hoped not, a very selfish part of him wanted to be the only one that those warm tones were used for. 

“-listening to me fire crotch?” 

Ian shook his head and blinked hard a couple of times to focus himself, and smiled lazily in apology. 

“Sorry, I zoned out a bit there. What were you saying?” he replied while trying to keep his voice steady. Mickey went back to talking about whatever it was he was before, and Ian tried to listen, he really did, but his mind would not let him focus on anything but how much he wanted kiss those lips. They just looked so  _ soft _ and most importantly, they were the lips of the boy he had wanted to kiss for a little over 2 years now. And he  _ kept _ thinking about it until Mickey took him into the living room, his whole body felt just as gooey as his heart so Mickey had to basically carry him to the couch. But the couch cushions felt rough against his sensitive skin so he slid himself unto the cool flooring, earning himself a raised brow from Mickey. 

The crease between Mickey’s brow was back as he fiddled with the remote (there were 3 of them on the table), and he took his lip between his teeth. He did that a lot, Ian noticed, when he was trying to focus in too loud places. A brand new warmth flushed through his chest at the sight,  _ god he was too fucking cute _ . 

_ I love you Mickey, so much _ , he thought to himself while he watched his best friend struggle even harder with the second remote now. 

Ian said “I love you” a lot, to a lot of different people; to his siblings, to his friends. He had begun to wear the words out after a while, until he fell in love with Mickey.

The love he had for Mickey was a lot deeper, more… involved. He loved his family, and thought of things he could do for them to show his appreciation, but he saw things that made him think of  _ Mickey  _ everywhere he went. The dandelions in his front yard, his neighbors cat that made you chase after it to pet it, the spicy food Fiona would cook sometimes, little keychains in the mall, the color blue - which he wasn't much of a fan of until he associated it with Mickey - that was quickly becoming one of his favorite colors. He loved his friends, too, and wanted to support them, stand with them. But  _ Mickey _ , Mickey was the one he wanted to stand side by side with, he wanted to be undeniably part of Mickey’ life for as long as he could. 

He spent a while, in the beginning of his long-standing crush, trying to convince himself that what he felt for Mickey was just friendship. He had never had a best friend before Mickey, only groups of friends (who weren't really his friends, when he looks back on it.) so he figured that his was just how having a  _ best friend _ felt like. That was, until, he had dreams of kissing his best friend at sunset for a week straight.  _ I don't think I love you in a friend way.  _

This was much, much, much more than that. He had never connected to someone so _honestly_ and _completely_ ; he felt his very _soul_ satisfied by Mickey’s presence alone. Not that Mickey was always easy to get along with; in fact they bickered a lot. Mickey was full of a lot of _fire_ and _passion_ , and sometimes he got so passionate that he didn't see he had taken it too far. Ian may be a kind guy, but he was no push over; he put Mickey in his place when he got out of hand. That led to a number of arguments in the beginning, until eventually they established that Ian was only trying to _help_ Mickey, not look down on him. 

But would let Mickey let him have that same liberty, would he still trust him to see the sensitive and vulnerable parts of himself that he guarded so fiercely, if he knew how Ian felt? Would he feel betrayed knowing that Ian was in his personal space, his personal  _ life _ , while being in love with him at the same time? How disgusted would he be if he knew how selfish Ian really was, how he was so  _ happy _ that he was Mickey’s favorite, that he was the only Mickey trusted with his secrets other than Mandy? How he wanted so  _ badly _ to be Mickey’s first kiss, ever since he had to reveal to him once, whispered in the dark of his room, that he had never been kissed. He wanted all of it, all of Mickey, always. _ I would never tell you though _ . 

Everything was just too warm now, almost too gooey and sweet with his head filled with nothing but Mickey, Mickey, Mickey. He remembers faintly trying to get his legs to work with him, because he wanted to be a bit closer to the boy on the couch across from him. Maybe he shouldn’t have had so much to drink, but it was the first weekend where he was home alone in a long time. He was glad, though, that his best friend was here to take care of him. 

He was very much caught up in his mind, so much so that he didn't even realize that Mickey wasn't in the living room anymore. He whined for him to come back, but got no response so he laid his head back and pouted. Then Mandy came through the front door, and what he had been pouting about completely slipped his mind in favor of being happy that  _ another _ one of his favorite people was here. He shouted to her and she ruffled his hair before going over to turn on the TV for him,  _ ah she's so nice _ . 

“Ian, where’s Mickey?” 

“Kitchen.” he mumbled back to her and tried to keep from pouting again when she went to the kitchen and didn't come back either. What was so exciting in  _ there _ ? He heard the sounds of their voices, but with the TV on he couldn't make out what they were saying. 

Suddenly Mickey came striding out of the kitchen, and Ian noticed he had his jacket on again. Was it cold in there or something? It didn't matter to him long, because Mickey came and stood close to where he was sitting. 

“Come sit with me mickyyyyy.” he slurred happily as he reached his arms as far as they would go towards the blonde.

“Can’t. I gotta go take care of shit. I'm heading out now.” He said curtly and then backed away from Ian's hands and walked briskly down the hall and out the front door.  _ What?  _

_ Wait- What?  _

He tried to get up and off the couch as quicky as he could to go after him, but he was having trouble getting all his limbs to cooperate. Mandy must have heard his frantic shuffling, as she came in from the kitchen with a bottle of water and set it down next to him before pushing his shoulders gently back onto the couch. 

“Mandy- Mandy stop I need to go out there-” he arguing, never breaking eye contact with the door that Mickey had just  _ left _ through. 

“Ian, he’s tired, he needs to go home. Hey- Ian stop it, sit the fuck down.” she commanded while holding his shoulders back. She may be much smaller than him, but she could still keep him where she wanted him. He huffed. He wanted to go after Mickey and ask why he left so suddenly. His heart hurt… something about Mickey’s face as he backed away from him didn't sit right at all.  _ Did I say something wrong?  _

“Drink this, and all of it. I'm gonna go clean up the kitchen - you know for two almost  _ adults _ , y’all can't clean up after yourselves for shit.” she said as she handed him the water once more and walked out of the living room. 

He stared at the water as if it would have an answer for him, but then settled on drinking half the bottle in one go. He tried to think back on what he said throughout the night, trying desperately to remember if he had said something that would offend the blonde so bad he would leave so quickly. Honestly the entire last 5 hours of his life were a blur, he felt as if he was looking at his memories through a kaleidoscope.  _ Fuck _ . 

Mandy came back a little while after he finished the water bottle, and helped him up and towards his room. He was beginning to sober up now, and could already feel nausea creeping into his stomach.

“Mandy, did Mickey say anything to you before he- before he left?” he stumbled over himself as she help set him down on his bed. He felt his energy leave his body as if it was being sapped out of him through his already-aching head. 

“Not really, why? Did something happen between you two?” 

“I dont remember. But he looked - when he left - he looked…” Ian trailed off quietly, an image of Mickey’s face in that moment burned behind his eyelids.

“Ian?” 

“Hurt. He looked hurt.” Mandy did not have a response to that, offering him a sad little smile. 

“I’m sure everything will be fine. If something  _ did _ happen, then you gotta give him some time to cool off. Besides, you need to sleep this off tonight.” 

Ian only nodded, while trying to look back on the night again in his mind. God, he wished Mickey was there with him. 

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked, a gentle hand on his shoulder rubbing small circles. He shook his head, he didn't feel like words would come out of his heavily feeling mouth quite how he wanted them to. 

“Okay. Well, then im going to finish cleaning up, and then im going to go home. But im always a phone call away if you need me, kay?” she pulled his eyes back to her, looking for a response. He only nodded again. With that she turned and walked to his door, but hesitated right before she pulled it closed all the way. 

“Hey, no matter what happened, you two will be alright. You always are.” She said softly, then closed the door and he listened to her steps recede down the hall. He turned on his side, back facing the door and whatever dumb thing he said earlier. His eyelids felt heavy, and everything stopped feeling so warm and soft like it did earlier; his feet and fingers were cold under the covers. 

He looked out the window on the wall he was facing, up at the dark sky littered with even darker clouds. It would probably rain soon. 

  
_ Mickey loves the rain _ , Ian thought with a small smile before letting exhaustion finally pull his eyes shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Before Ian even opened his eyes, he was reminded of why he doesn't drink often. Even thinking hurt as he tried to remember where he was and at what point during the night he was hit by several semi-trucks. Groaning heavily, he took stock of the situation: He was in his room back at home, his head felt like it was splitting apart, his stomach was churning, and he felt overall gross. _Ugh_. 

Looking over to his bed stand to see a bottle of Powerade and two pills of what he assumed was aspirin, he made a mental note to do something very nice for Mandy later. _What a god-send_. He faintly remembered her putting him in his bed, but that was just about all he remembered from last night. Trying to look back any further sent a fresh wave of pain rushing through his head. 

After he had popped both pills in his mouth and chugged half the Powerade, he turned his focus to trying to get on feet. He knew the awful feeling in his stomach--which was becoming increasingly more urgent the longer he was awake--was going to need to be taken care of soon, not to mention he acrid taste in his mouth. Sighing deeply with his eyes closed, Ian mentally prepared himself for the short walk to the bathroom down the hall. 

Eventually he heaved himself unto his feet and made his way out into the hallway. At least it was quiet this morning, which was not something common among his house.

Walking proved a lot harder on his stomach than getting up, and brushing his teeth was even _harder_. Something about the taste of toothpaste mixing with the remnants of whatever he drank last night caused his stomach to clench and bile to rile up his throat quickly. Dashing the few steps from the sink to the toilet, he just made it in time to throw up his bad decisions from yesterday. He was not the biggest fan of how alcohol tastes, but it was _so much_ _worse_ coming back up. _I’m never drinking again,_ Ian shuddered to himself as he flushed the toilet and reapplied toothpaste to his toothbrush. Having a clean mouth made him feel a little better, but there was still the overall gross feeling that needed to be taken care of before he could do anything else. 

The shower made him feel infinitely better, the warm water massaging into his shoulders and the back of his head helped soothe the ache in his skull while the steam helped clear up the fogginess in his memory. Not by much, but he would take what he could get at the moment. He recalled much of the time _before_ he started drinking; eating something Mickey made for him, talking about the exams coming up, the conversation steering to the girl from biology that had snapchatted him, then to the guy he had gone on a date with a couple weeks ago. From there things began to blur together sloppily until Mandy was on the couch with him, making him drink water. 

Today was Sunday, which meant he had the entire day to recover before driving back up to the dorms tonight. Half of him wanted to go right back to sleep, but the other--more insistent--side of him was incredibly hungry. Ian couldn’t remember if he ate anything last night for dinner, but his stomach felt hollow and achy. 

The kitchen was clean when he entered it; just another thing to thank Mandy for tomorrow. Ian wasn't much of a cook, but he could manage simple things like eggs and pancakes (the kind you made with pancake mix, of course.) but they wouldn’t be as good as when Mickey made them. Everything tasted so much better when Mickey made it… _God, I wish he was here_. 

_Wait- why_ isnt _he here?_

Mickey was there before the white-noise in his memories began, somewhere around the third drink, _so why wasn’t he here now?_ They had planned on spending the weekend together, the drinking had only been after-thought born out of boredom. Ian frowned down as the bubbling eggs in the small pan in front of him, trying once again to remember the events of last night. Everything was still covered in a haze, so once he plated his eggs he retreated to his room to look for his phone. 

There was a few messages from Mandy, explaining that she left more Powerade in the fridge (Like he said, a _god-send_ .) and to not drink so much next time. There were a couple more texts to the group chat saying good mornings and such; but to Ian’s dismay, no texts from Mickey. Though Ian was usually the one to initiate conversations through messages, he was a bit disappointed in the lack of explanation as to Mickey’s disappearance. _It was probably a family thing_ , _he has those a lot._

Ian didn’t know a lot about Mickey’s family despite the fact that they had been best friends for a year, but he chalked that up to coincidence. He had met Mickey’s brothers when they moved into the dorms, and knew he had other family that lived nearby. He had wondered, back in second year, why Mickey never offered his house when they planned to hang out on the weekends that they werent at the dorms. The clipped and almost _angry_ response he got in return deterred him from asking or wondering again. 

Still, Mickey had gotten much better at communication throughout the years, and was usually good about telling Ian about what was going on. He knew he was being paranoid- pathetically so- but the fact that Mickey left without saying why made him extremely nervous as he pocketed his phone and walked back to the kitchen and his breakfast. 

He wasn’t very hungry anymore. 

______________________

  
  


The rest of the day went on just like the morning did; Ian recovering from his headache, keeping himself busy cleaning and what-not, and checking his phone every five minutes to see if Mickey texted him. He had sent him a message around noon, but hadn’t received a response. 

It made him frustrated, because Ian was _not_ some school girl who waits around the phone waiting for her crush to call. But something about the situation rubbed him the wrong way, and he couldn't help but feel he was _missing_ something. 

No matter how hard he tried, he could not get the nagging feeling that something was wrong to go away. Not when he cleaned the whole house to distract himself, not when his family came home and they had dinner together, not on the drive back to CSU, not when he laid in his dorm waiting to hear Mickey come down the hall. 

Ian prided himself on being a straight-forward guy, he wasn't one to ignore problems or tension just out of fear of confrontation. That's why he was waiting for the tell-tale sound of Mickey’s steps in the hall, so that he could nip this problem in the bud. He would confront Mickey, ask what happened, and go from there. But the longer he waited, the more he began to overthink. He had already had a _whole day_ to think up countless scenarios of what would go down with Mickey when he saw him, of what he would _say_. Ian came up with dozens of speeches in his head for each of these scenarios, practiced and re-practiced, so that maybe when he recited them to Mickey he wouldn't stumble over himself. 

He could feel his thoughts start to barrel full-speed down a steep hill of self-doubt and panic. It was one thing to practice apologies in front of his mirror at home, and another to actually be facing the consequences of actions that he didn’t even remember. The thing that scared him most was not yelling or screaming or even a punch to the face; he was all-consumingly terrified of the _silence_ . Mickey, despite popular belief, did not get truly angry often. He had a short fuse and a quick temper, he exploded- sometimes literally- on people if they agitated him, but he was almost never _sincerely_ enraged. 

Mickey only got actually, deeply, mad when he was offended, when he was _hurt_. The first time Ian had seen it was in first year, when he had come to Ian’s dorm without being asked for the first time. Ian had been asleep but woke up to the soft, almost hesitant knocks at his door. Mickey didn't usually knock. Mickey also didn’t usually show up at his door covered in bandages and scratches, and Mickey wasn't usually quiet like that either. 

Ian had let him sit on his bed, listened confusedly as Mickey mumbled something about how it was his fault. Ian remembers how he had scrambled to compensate for the lack of _heat_ from Mickey. He was silent and cold, cut off and shut out. The quiet, undeniable _fury_ that filled his room had startled him so badly that Ian hadn't known what to say exactly. He was used to yelling, cursing, threatening, but the Mickey on his bed was none of those. Ian remembers telling him the only thing he could think to say, what he had already known but needed _Mickey_ to know.

_I will always be on your side, no matter what_. 

He remembers Mickey’s eyes when he looked at him, how open and pleading and searching they were, and how it made Ian forget how he ever breathed in the first place. Apparently he had found what he had been looking for because he all but collapsed into Ian after that, and the tears came faster. 

It tore through Ian’s chest to think about, even a little over a year later. About how he had to hold Mickey and reassure him through the longest night of his life, until finally they watched the sunrise together. Eventually the alarms had quieted and the day begun, and that shakey fragmented version of Mickey left with the night. 

The thought that Ian would face that Mickey again, this time because of something _he_ did, made his whole mouth taste bitter with guilt. He had seen that deep anger a few more times after that first night, but it had never been _because_ of Ian; no, Ian was one Mickey had trusted to see that anger for what it was and hold him through its aftermath. 

Ian racked his brain one last time, attempting to wade through the thick fog of saturday night to remember what he had _done_. He was interrupted by the sound of the elevator at the end of the hall opening and heavy footsteps approaching. He sprung up from his bed with wide eyes and hands held out in front of him in panic. 

_Breathe, what is going to happen will happen. Panicking will only make it worse._

Ian opened his door quietly and stepped out into the hallway. He turned his head to the right to find the exact boy that he had been overthinking about all day. Micke was in front of his own door, hand on the doorknob, eyebrow quirked at him in question. Suddenly all those grand speeches Ian had planned out in his mind slipped from his hands because _oh_.

Mickey was _here_ and _he looked sinfully good in red._

Leave it to Ian to forget the paranoia that had tormented him all day just because Mickey was wearing a _red hoodie._

“Did you need somethin’ fire crotch or fucking what?” the gruff voice snapped him out of his frantically charmed thoughts, something about how the hoodie was a tad loose on Mickey was really getting to his poor gay brain. 

“I-uh… just wanted to say hi?” he laughed nervously, because he was so, so, _so_ glad to hear Mickey’s voice. Mickey was talking to him and calling him that nickname that hadn’t held any real fire for a long time now. 

They would be okay. 

“Quit being so weird. ‘m going to bed.” he mumbled and opened his door all the way, moving inside. 

“Wait! Mickey dude-” Ian scrambled the distance between their doors and pushed his way inside. Mickey was already on his bed and looked up at Ian incrediously, silently asking for a good fucking explanation as to why Ian was keeping him from sleeping.

“I just wanted to ask--where did you go on saturday?” Ian tried to not make it obvious that the question made him nervous, scratching the back of his neck to seem more casual than he felt. 

“Jus’ got tired. Why? Did Mandy not help you?” 

“She did! I was just wondering about you…” the sentence trailed off and tried to phrase what he was trying to say.

“I can hear you thinking from over here, fire crotch. Spit it out.” 

“I was just wondering- did I do anything to upset you?” 

Mickey looked almost surprised by the question, and simply looked at Ian for a few heavy beats before saying,

“You don’t remember any of that night?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question, and it sent cold shivers of dread through his neck into his chest and fingertips.

“Uh-no? Not really. Why? Did I say something weird?” There was another pause, which did not help the rising panic in Ian’s gut. Mickey seemed to be contemplating something to himself, and finally his face set and he looked decided.

“Nothing important. Jus’ your usual dumb shit.” he grinned. 

_Oh thank god_. 

_________________

The last week before Christmas break was finally here, and excited chatter about holiday plans enveloped the University in between tests. Currently, Ian was about three fourths through his very last history exam on his very last day of school for the semester. He had finished early since oddly enough, Ian was actually very good at history. He had forgotten to bring a book to read after, though, so he was stuck staring off into space and letting his mind wander.

It made Ian a bit sad, actually, because for a majority of the break he would be up at his house with the rest of his family. It was tradition, and tradition was a big deal in his family so he knew there was no way he could miss it. 

His eyes wandered over to Mickey, who had seemed to also have finished early. He wondered if Mickey had any cousins. so Ian let himself wonder about who Mickeyspent Christmas with. His parents- of course- and maybe his grandparents, who Mickey had told him about a few times. They were Ukarian immigrants, holed up in a small place in chicago. 

Ian smiled to himself, imagining Mickey speaking in ukrainian to his grandparents; how the delicate words would roll off his tongue in that gravely voice of his. He shook his head to try to rid himself of the dark blush he felt creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. _Thoughts for another time_. But now he couldn’t help himself from imagining Mickey with his family during the break, and the thought made him snicker under his breath. He could see Mickey’s house in his mind, covered in red and white decorations and cheesy family-themed quotes. There would be a huge tree- decked out to the max- in the living room, because he could imagine so easily that his family never half-assed anything just like Mickey and Mandy. 

Maybe Mickey’s grandparents and other such family would be there, and they would fill the house with warmth. If they were anything like Mickey, then the house would be loud with music and voices. Ian’s small smile grew evermore as he imagined Mickey baking Christmas cookies with his mom, the two of them bickering the entire time. In fact, he thinks there would be a lot of that: banter and bickering. He remembered Mickey’s brothers, recalled how they were intimidating but in a kind way and how he knew instantly where Mickey got his _fire_ from.

Yeah, he could imagine them butting heads the same way Ian and him did. He pictured how he would argue with them tooth-and-nail on how Christmas dinner should be prepared, but end up making all their favorites anyways. It made Ian’s chest fill with pure affection, and he found himself thinking about _him_ spending Christmas with Mickey. His mind got fuzzy with all the scenes of the two of them enjoying each other's company during the holiday. 

It was just a fantasy, he knew, but he couldn't help but see him and Mickey wrapped up in a mountain of blankets and pillows and _each other_ , in front of a gently burning fireplace while it snowed outside. Mickey’s voice would be so soft and _gentle_ , warm and tender like the fire in front of them. _Mickey loves the rain, does he love the snow too?_

His siblings would spill embarrassing stories to Ian while Mickey yelled indignantly, but he would end up just grumbling into Ian’s side in the end. Kissing softly under mistletoe, much to Mickey’s flustered embarrassment. He bet that his family was as competitive as him, maybe they would play board games or have snowball fights outside. Him and Mickey made a perfect team so he’s sure they’d win; he could almost see Mickey’s satisfied grin at their victory. _Revenge for the embarrassing stories_ , Ian laughed to himself. 

Would Mickey like Ian's family? He thinks he would fit in among them nicely. His siblings would like him, because Ian knows that even though Mickey can be a bit coarse with people, he was always gentle with kids. Just thinking of Mickey being careful while playing with the little ones made Ian’s heart clench in the most delightful way. 

Fiona would like him too, she always got along best with those who were honest and held their own. Yeah, they would get along real well- that made Ian’s poor heart clench even _more_ . He wanted it so _bad_ . To have Mickey blend into the family he held so dearly, to blend into Mickey’s too. God he would give anything just to be _Mickey’s_ family, someone _Mickey_ held so close.

Cheers erupted suddenly from all around him and a ripple of hardening raced through him in surprise. He looked around frantically to see that all of his classmates were up out of their seats. _Ah, were out for Christmas break now._

He should be more excited, and feigned it as he cheered along with his friends and said his happy goodbyes. He just couldn't keep himself from being disappointed that his fantasies were just that. Fantasies. But he was pulled out of his sullen thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder pulling attention behind him, to Mickey himself. His face was serene, despite the fact that everyone was speaking over each other. 

“Wait for me after.” he yelled over the noise around them and jerked his head towards the hallway, then turned and left to go collect his things. So Ian waited until all of the class had left to go find Mickey in the direction he had indicated earlier. 

The hallway was mostly empty, save for a few lingering students speaking to each other further down. Mickey was leaned against the wall adjacent from him, arms crossed on his chest and eyes closed. He seemed to straighten up at Ian's presence, opening his eyes to pin him where he was. 

“Hey man. Glad we could talk before you go.” Ian smiled and scratched the back of his neck. Mickey grunted in response and began walking towards the exit facing the dorms.

“I’m gonna miss you. Sorry we cant hang out during break.” He continued, stepping up next Mickey, matching his pace. 

“ ‘s whatever, I’ll be here when you get back. How long are you goin’ up there anyways?” He pouted (Yes, he _pouted_.) 

“Two weeks. That leaves a week left of break when I get back, we’ll hang out then. Hopefully you won't miss me _too_ much.” Ian teased him while bumping him with his shoulder playfully. Mickey bumped him back even harder. 

“Who the fuck said I’ll miss you fire crotch, I was just wondering how long I get to enjoy some peace n’ quiet.” Mickey bit back. It took awhile after they met to realize that the words had no actual bite behind them, this was how he _teased_. 

“Nah, you love me.” _please say it, just so I can pretend._

Mickey still had a hard time with out right talking about his affection, preferring to show it through actions. But he turned his pinkening cheeks away from Ian and sped up his walking a bit. 

“Yeah, whatever.” he grumbled and Ian _swooned_ as suddenly all those fantasies from earlier popped back to the front of his mind. 

“Are you heading out soon?” Ian asked even though Mickey’s head was still turned away from him. _How much longer do I have with you?_

“Yeah, just need to get my shit in my car.”

“Ah, i'm actually leaving now, already put my stuff in my car.” _I don’t want to leave you yet._ Both of them shifted a bit awkwardly as the pace they were walking slowed considerably. 

“Well don’t let me keep you. I’ll text you tonight.” 

“Yup! I’m gonna send you sooooo many pictures of my neighborhood dogs.” He laughed. When Mickey didn’t say anything in response, Ian looked over to find he was already staring at him. Neither of the two said anything for a few content moments, but then the corners of Mickey’s mouth pulled upwards slowly. 

The smile that Mickey gave him was his favorite one; this one was only shared between the two of them, it was only _for_ the two of them. It was a precious smile; tentative, shamelessly soft, and genuine. It was one of the smiles that made Mickey’s face absolutely _tender_ , those eyes that looked as if they were cut from ice turned smooth and silken. Ian fell just a bit harder every time he saw it, and this moment was no exception. 

“‘m gonna fucking miss you too, fire crotch.” he spoke quietly, almost so no one else would hear. _Good. This moment is only for me._

“I gotta go pack my shit so Mandy doesn't have my ass for being late. Go have fun with your family.” He pushed him even further off from his shoulders and walked away towards the dorms. Ian watched him go as he focused on trying to calm his heart down from its erratic beat that threatened to break through his ribs. He was still smiling when he pulled into the driveway at home, a overly-sappy love song playing through his cars radio. 

_________________

  
  


Mickey knew tonight was going to be rough when he spotted his grandmothers obnoxious yellow car parked in the _middle_ of the fucking driveway. She had simultaneously blocked him from parking in the garage or in the driveway, so he pulled up to the sidewalk in front of his house and took the opportunity to catch his breath. _It was going to be a long fucking night_. 

He tried to enter through the door as quietly as possible, hoping that if he could just make it upstairs he could escape to his room and pretend to be asleep for the rest of the night. But that shitty fucking floor board in front of the staircase creaked.

“Mickey? that you?” His father’s voice boomed from somewhere deeper in the house. He could still make a run for it, but it wasn't any use at this point. Begrudgingly, he headed in the direction of where he had heard him. 

“You’re late.” He said. His voice was even and held no particular emotion, it almost sounded more like a statement than an accusation. But he knew better. 

“Had some stuff I needed to do before I could leave.” His response didn't seem to please him all that much, as his movements became harsher. The spoon he was using to stir was set down a tad too forcefully, and cold dread slipped down his spine. His skin prickled dangerously and geared up for a fight that he _refused_ to have.

“How worthless are you if you cant even show up on fucking time.” he seethed. Usually he would try to explain himself, to _defend_ himself, but his words were decisive and he knew saying anything more would just make it worse. His blood sang for a fight, he felt the urge to push _back_ simmer just beneath his skin. 

He went on slamming things around and huffing, and each time made him cringe more into himself. He wanted to leave so fucking _badly_ , but he wasn't sure that turning his back on him was wise at the moment. He should say something, but the words caught in his throat and refused to come out. 

“Do you want help?” He was careful to keep curses out of his mouth, because there was no need for them here. He liked the way they gave him power, emphasizing what he said and catching attention- good or bad- from those around him. When he said shit it was because it was _important_ enough to say, so of course people should listen. But right now he did not want to be listened to, he wanted anything but emphasis on himself; he wanted to blend into the walls or sink right into the floor. Anywhere but here. 

Eventually he got together his beer and cigarettes and pushed his way past Mickey into the living room to where Iggy, Collin, and their grandmother were sitting. 

Mickey’s grandmother chose this time to continue some story she had been telling earlier, something about how the stewardesses on the plane hadn’t done their jobs. 

Mickey felt familiar irritation seep into him in response to her unending nasally voice. Before anyone could cut in with a response she launched into yet another story, about a man who had been driving next to Terry on their ride home from the airport. Apparently he had too many tattoos on his arms for her taste, and proceed to rant about people with tattoos for the next ten minutes.

His annoyance grew with each time she uttered the word “Anyways”, signaling she was beginning a new line of complaints about something new. Listening to her ramble and disapprove about every little thing she saw on her way to their house made him want to scream.

Being here made him _itch_. 

He could feel the events of today rise in his mind like static, growing too loud in his head too quick.. The scraping of the metal forks against plates was too much. The smoke that filled the room from multiple burning cigarettes was too much, the smell of cheap liquor coming off his father was too much. The way his clothes rubbed against his skin was too much. He was being drowned in _too much_. 

“-and did you see the clouds all day today? It looks like its going to rain tonight.” Mickey liked the rain. It was going to rain tonight. He grounded himself in that thought, _it was going to rain tonight._

“I hate the rain, it’s so dreary. Why couldn’t we have nicer weather during the holidays in this shit town.” 

_Oh fuck._

“Is there anything you actually _like_?” Mickey snapped out the words before he could even think to stop himself. For a moment he felt dangerously satisfied, all the tension that had been building and building had finally snapped. Then he registered that his grandmother, and everyone in the room, were staring at him. Guess he would have his fight after all. 

“The fuck you say, boy?” his father grumbled while she looked down her nose at him. He felt bitter heat flare up through every fucking pore of his body, and if he was wiser he would let him have the last word but in this moment he was not wise, he was _mad_. 

“Do you even fucking hear yourself over all the nagging you do?” He challenged, the damage had been done already so there was no point in backing down now. 

“After everything you choose to continue to be an impudent little brat. You aren't _worth_ the hell you put this family through.” she sneered at him, smug, as if it was something he hadn’t already heard countless times before. 

“And any of you are? The rest of the family are just cowards that are too afraid to lose their place in your will to tell you to shut the fuck up.” 

“Mickey shut the fuck up before I kick the shit outta you” He knew this was going to end very badly for him either way, so he might as well let out some of the rage boiling in his bones. 

“Well? You’ve always fucking got some shit to say.” His father was getting up from the table now, so he knew his time was almost up. But he did not look away from his grandmother, who was also now standing and facing him. He had almost thought he’d _won_ \--

“At least the rest of us aren't shameful little _faggots_.” 

She had spoken the words like they were venom in her mouth, and maybe they fucking were. _They felt like it_. Pure unadulterated rage filled him so suddenly that he didn't feel himself reacting until beer bottles and other such things came crashing to the ground and the table was upended. 

“Fuck _you._ ” Despite trying with everything he had, his voice still trembled in rage. Her smirk of satisfaction made him want to crawl out of his own skin and burn everything around him until there was nothing left. He could feel the hot tears well up behind his eyes, so overwhelmed in his anger that they threatened to spill over. 

He felt his father’s grip on his wrist burn into him, a promise of what was to come. He snarled at his grandmother but then let his burning eyes cut to his brothers, _challenging_ them to say something. But they knew better. 

  
  


______________________

  
  


Coming home was always Ian’s favorite part of the holidays, walking into his childhood home was like slipping into an old sweater. He felt familiar here, this was his beginning and for a long time this was where every major growth was held. Even though he was all grown up and independent now, a piece of him would always belong here, in the creaky floorboards and the chipped wall paint. His siblings greeted him enthusiastically. Debbie and Franny had baked him a welcome home cake and FIoan hugged him like she hadn't seen him in years. Lip whispered in his ear that he had a few good blunts for him when he wanted to escape to the back porch, and Liam showed him all the cool things he had done to the boys room while he was gone. Carl still wasn’t home yet, but he could just imagine the stories he would have when he did arrive. 

The welcome homes were done and the christmas tree laid bare waiting to be decorated when Carl finally did arrive. Which left him and Fiona and Debbie to sit on the couch together, watching some TMZ movie they couldn’t remember the name of. It was around nine when he began to feel his eyelids droop and the familiar warmth of sleepiness seep into his limbs, today had been long and it was taking its toll. 

He had been lulling in and out of sleep for awhile, catching some parts of the movie but missing others, and he was just about to fall deep into sleep when he was startled awake by a knock at the door. It was late so he figured it wouldn’t be a solicitor or something being delivered, probably something important, but he was having a hard time finding the motivation to go answer it. Fiona looked at him, then to the door, and then back to him as a silent way of saying _go get it please_. He sighed heavily and forced himself off the couch dramatically, but did as he was told. 

Out of all the things he expected to see when he opened the door, _Mickey_ was not one of them. His eyes caught first on the wild head of black hair illuminated by his porch light, and an automatic smile lit up on his face. His eyes wandered down from Mickey’s hair to his face, and Ian’s smile dropped instantly. There was a long gash along his left cheek bone and a matching one on his hairline, blood smeared under it where it had obviously been wiped away. His other cheek was consumed by an irritated crimson, and Ian could almost make out the shapes of fingers. His eyes were red-rimmed too, eyelashes clumping together from tears.

He couldn't help himself from looking further down to the only other exposed part of Mickey’s skin. His left arm was littered with bruises, the most noticeable and harsh of them being the one that circled his wrist. Mickey’s other arm fared no better except instead of bruises, his forearm was covered in cuts, as if he had fallen on broken glass. 

Ian’s chest clenched painfully, he felt as if he had hit the ground and had all the air knocked out of him. All he could manage was to say Mickey’s name in question as he tried to process what he was seeing. Mickey wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“I didn't know where else to go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude before we get back to the angst.

Ian remembers the exact moment he first saw Mickey Milkovich.

Ian had been looking forward to a fresh start all summer. After having his big meltdown the summer after he graduated, complete with a not-so-brief stint at a mental hospital (the same one his mother visited on multiple occasions, ironically.) he spent the rest of the year getting his shit together. Essentially learning how to be a human being again; one without heavy amounts of alcohol or drugs, or hookups with people who frankly had no business being with him. 

The world wasn't as exciting and shiny, and he couldn't so get obsessed with things that he could spend days doing them and nothing else. He missed that part a bit, the focus that would drive him to do some of his most impressive work. Now it was hard for him to get into things with the same energy, often growing bored of them within the hour. 

The fuzziness didn't help either, and when the underwater feeling subsided it left things feeling dull. It also didn't help that all he did was go work and come home to do nothing important. None of his “hobbies” seemed as fun anymore, and it left him in a state of monotony.

So to say he was looking forward to a new start with college was an understatement. The appeal of getting to start over, reinvent himself, and have something to do that actually _mattered_ was his sole reason for carrying on through the tedious summer.

* * *

Fiona and Debbie came with him to move into the dorms, Lip and the rest of the clan had already said their goodbyes back at the house. So along with his sisters and a few boxes of his belongings, he began a new chapter of his life. 

His roommate (Chris) was nice, a bit eccentric, but overall someone he saw himself being good friends with. His blue hair and excitable nature blended nicely with Ian’s neat and laid back demeanor. 

The campus was beautiful as they toured it, the quads (there were _two_ of them.) were full of vibrant grass and beautiful arching trees with people meandering about. Ian could see himself wanting to be one of them; walking with friends chatting happily, making his commute to classes, laying in the grass soaking up the day in warmed content.

Ian had found a job semi-easily working at one of the coffee shops on campus, Morning Cup. It may be cliche, but most of their employees had been seniors that moved on after they graduated so there were plenty of spots open, particularly in the early morning. Ian did not mind getting up early, had done so all through highschool to go on runs before school. The meds made it a bit harder to get up in the morning. It took a few more alarms to actually get out of bed, but he still enjoyed being up before the rest of the world. 

The people were generally nice, most happy to make conversation with him while he made their coffee. He had a few regulars that he was already becoming familiar with in his first week; a biology major named Amy, an art major named Kailyn, and a gentleman (who he suspected to be a professor) named Paul. Most the others chose to not be personal with him, not that he minded. At 6 in the morning it was easy to understand not wanting to talk much; Ian enjoyed their quiet presence as well. 

It was a Tuesday, he was just opening up and the sun was also starting to paint the campus gold when the bells above the door tinkled. Ian looked up to see a stranger walk through the door while taking off the hood of his coat. Ian walked over to meet him at the counter, putting on his shiniest smile and greeting him warmly. 

Ian was transfixed with the stranger for a moment. His shock of black hair stood in sharp contrast to his porcelain skin and clear-cut blue eyes. He didn't think he had ever seen eyes so _blue_ before, they almost matched the gentle blue of the sunrise sky outside. Those captivating eyes were slightly wide, looking him up and down with obvious surprise. The boy didn't say anything to accompany his stare, and suddenly Ian felt a little self conscious. 

“You’re not Mandy.”

“I’m… not Mandy? Im Ian.” He laughed nervously. The guy squinted his eyes at him for a moment, before frowning. Ian thought he heard that name before, but whoever she was she wasn't here, a fact that seemed to not please the man in front of him. He looked off the side and wiped his lower lip with his thumb before looking back to Ian. 

“I’ll have a large coffee. Black.” He said decisively before handing Ian exact change and walking over to the seats in the back. Ian didn't even have time to process what he had said before he was staring at his retreating figure. Black coffee, huh.

The mystery guy never said much, but he was always back every morning right when they opened and the sun was just rising. He always looked wind-blown and a bit sleepy, and Ian found it charming if not a little adorable. Those eyes seemed to punch him in the gut every time they were turned onto him. It was as if the man could look right into the contents of Ian’s soul, and Ian couldn't figure out if mystery guy liked what he saw or not.

Either way, he was quickly becoming one of Ian’s favorite parts of his morning- or shit, even his whole day. 

* * *

  
  


His favorite building of all of them had to be the library. The building itself was built out of glass panelling and filled with so much natural light, three stories all wrapping around a central area complete with oak tables that seated all types of students working quietly. Flags of every country hung from the ceiling, every color splashed against the flawless glass and blue sky. Ian found himself looking up more than forward as Chris pulled him along. Just as he was deciding that the ceiling was his favorite part of the building, he saw _him_. 

He just so happened to look sideways at the same moment as mystery guy from the cafe did. His eyes gazed into his own briefly, heavily, sparking with recognition before sliding back the cart he was pushing. A flicker of something rolled down Ian’s spine and he felt that familiar curiosity that filled him every time he saw him. He was beautiful as he moved fluidly among the people, as if he belonged here, this place was _his_.

He moved languidly and familiarly, even behind a cart filled high with books, and he seemed so passive here despite his somewhat intimidating look. Ian found himself turning a bit to follow the boy and he moved across the room. Whatever Chris had been saying went in one ear and out the other, what did it matter when Ian’s interest was on something much more monumental. 

“What are you looking at Ian? You know him?” Chris asked curiously as he turned too to look at the brunette.

“Uh- he’s- ” The guy I have a definite school girl crush on without even knowing his name? fuck, did he really want to out himself this early on? 

“Kinda.” he scratched the back of his neck bashfully, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. 

* * *

It was raining the day that he asked mystery guy his name. 

He had come in wearing a thick coat that was much too big for him, it swallowed his hands as he handed over exact change of a large black coffee. It made Ian’s heart squeeze pleasantly; he wanted to _hold_ those hands. 

Ian was reverent of most things concerning mystery guy, but his hands were one of his favorite things about him. They were shorter than Ian’s (Ian had spent a lot of time comparing their hands in his head, how they would fit together as well as other scenarios that were not as innocent.) and a bit stocker, but they still came off as delicate despite the vulgar words printed onto his knuckles. Speaking of his ink, that discovery surged Ian’s curiosity of the mystery guy; He wanted to know the story behind them, and all of the little quirks that he held. He was just one big mystery to Ian, but it made the little things he found out all the more sweet. 

Sometimes those hands would have specks of paint on them, splashes of ink or a bit of pencil smudges along the back of them. The idea that mystery guy was an artist intrigued Ian beyond imagination, the idea of the gruff stranger gently pouring himself onto a canvas and creating works that Ian would _kill_ to see. 

He realized he was almost done making his coffee by the time he snapped out of his thoughts about mystery guys hands. He found himself itching to know _more_. 

Today was a good day, he woke up energized and giddy with a gentle happiness that he hadn't felt in while. He had energy in his tasks today, an extra bounce in his step. Today was a day to be bold. 

As mystery guy came up to get his coffee Ian held onto the cup, causing him to raise his brows high at him in silent questioning. He had been slowly warming up to Ian, even though he didn't say much, when he did he did so with such expression in his face and movements. Ian _adored_ it. 

“What’s your name?” Ian asked with eyes wide in anticipation. The boy’s eyebrows raised even higher, if that was possible, and considered him heavily for a moment with eyes half squinted like he did when he was deciding if something was worth it or not. 

“Mickey.”

* * *

“Good morning, _Mickey_.” 

Ian made sure to use his name whenever he could, let it slide from his tongue as sweet as it felt to know it. Ian held onto that bit of information like it was something _holy_ , and to him it was. A selfish part of him wondered how many people he had told his name, if anyone else in the coffee shop knew his name like Ian did. 

Mickey mumbled a good morning (He started doing that recently, to Ian’s absolute pleasure.) and dug into his pocket for his money. He didn't even tell Ian his order, Ian already knew what he wanted, something else Ian took pride in knowing. 

He noticed paint on the shirt he was wearing, a smear of red against the black fabric. Ian felt greedy again, and decided to push even more.

“Are you an art major, Mickey?” Mickey looked up suddenly at that, eyes meeting Ian’s sharply. He furrowed his brows quickly and shook his head slowly,

“The fuck did you get that idea from?” he spoke gruffly. 

“You have paint on your hands sometimes, and your shirt. Was just wondering.” Ian backtracked, the whole conversation turned a little tense at Mickey’s offended reply.

“Well im not.” he spoke shortly and harshly as he handed Ian his money. They didn't say anything after that and Ian could feel his heart falling slowly into his stomach. _Fuck_ , he had been too eager, pressed too far like he always did when he was obsessed with something. 

Mickey did not come back the next day.

* * *

It was extremely busy at Morning Cup. It was a monday morning, right in the middle of the 8am rush, and Ian was racing around with two of his other co-workers. Mandy was one of them, as he found out she was one of his coworkers, and the one who had previously worked the 6am shift. She looked a lot like Mickey, same black hair and electric blue eyes, and he had an inkling that they were related. He didn't ask, was too afraid to inquire anything about Mickey after he had crossed some sort of line last time he saw him. 

He wasn't even paying attention, too busy wiping down the counter as the last customer walked away to the receiving counter to look up at the next one. 

“Hey, Ian.” his head whipped up at a quickness that really should have hurt and his heart sped up even quicker. Mickey was _here_ and saying Ian’s _name_. 

“Mickey?” He tried to not gasp because so many unprecedented things were happening right now that it was catching Ian completely off guard. Mickey was here, not at 6am, addressing Ian directly, and he was _blushing_. He looked almost bashful, looking off to the side while digging his hands deep into his pockets. 

“Uh-”

“Black coffee?” They both started at the same moment and Mickey looked away again. 

“You go first!” Ian said, a little too loud. He wasn't given time to prepare to talk to Mickey and it was really messing with him. Mickey seemed to get even more embarrassed as Ian stared at him openly.

“I jus’ wanted to say uh- I wanted to say sorry. For the other morning.” He mumbled while not looking at Ian's eyes.

Oh. _Oh_. 

Ian felt everything in him swell delightedly. Mickey was talking to him at 8am, apologizing for something that Ian had assumed was his fault and _oh god_ \- he was _blushing_. Ian wanted to take the image of pink dusting the top of those soft cheeks and stamp it into the back of his eyelids so that it could be all he saw, forever. 

“It's fine! It's all good. Seriously I wasn't upset or anything- Yeah it's- its good.” Ian stammered as Mickey looked back up at him with relief in his eyes. Ian needed to go lay down or scream into a pillow or something because he was so _full_ . Mickey was _worried_ about Ian being upset with him. Today had to be one of the best days of Ian's life, definitely top 5. 

“Large black coffee?” Ian asked with a smile, and to his- and his heart’s- utter doom Mickey nodded and let his own small grin perk the corners of his lips. It was sincere and genuine and hesitant and _breathtaking_ , and oh god Ian was so fucked. 

When he turned around to make the coffee, he let an absolute _beam_ take over his face. He tried to keep the giddiness of his mouth when he turned around to give the cup over to Mickey, but he couldn't help the confidence that Mickey's admission gave him. Mickey cared what Ian thought. Today was a good day, and so he decided to throw all reason out the window and take a chance. 

Mickey was about to turn away when Ian stopped him with a shout of his name. He looked back at him, coffee half raised up to his mouth, and cocked his head a bit in question. 

“Do you wanna hang out later?” Ian said before he could think twice. Mickey looked at him for a moment, searching for him for something that he must have found because he gave Ian another small smile. 

“Sure.”

And it was all downhill from there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to the current situation. Let the happy times begin!

Some distant part of Ian’s mind warmed at the thought that he was the one Mickey came to in this vulnerable state, but that thought mixed hurriedly with all of the panic and confusion that was consuming him. Did Mickey get into a fight? Should Ian be calling the police, or an ambulance? How bad did the other guy look?

His shocked hesitation did not go unnoticed, and Mickey seemed to be brought back into his body from whatever mindset brought him here. His eyes clouded, closed off just a bit more, and he went to cover his bruised wrist instinctually. A new lash of hurt and urgency rushed through Ian’s veins but the words stayed where they were in his throat. Too many questions, too much fear of the answers. 

He wordlessly opened the door wider and stepped aside, motioning for Mickey to enter. Mickey took one more moment to switch his stare between the doormat and Ian’s face, before taking small hesitant steps inside as if he wasn't sure he was allowed. They stood awkwardly in the entryway, both wrapped in a quiet tension. _Say something! You need to say something now!_

“Ian? Who was at the door?” Fiona called from the living room, making both boys jump. Ian felt more than saw Mickey take an automatic step back, away from the direction of her voice. He looked to Mickey to have their eyes meet, and his heart hurt more. His eyes were wide- _scared_ \- and his body had tensed up, seconds away from bolting right back out the door. It was if he hadn't considered that Ian’s family would be here, and the realization inflicted some sort of terror that Ian didn’t quite understand. 

Out of habit, he reached out to him to keep him from going but as soon as he lifted a hand in Mickey’s direction, he flinched back hard and inched even closer to the door. He looked like a caged animal, shifting his weight between his feet; ready to run. Ian knew this could go very badly very quickly if he didn’t get control of the situation right then and there. He turned to Mickey, who seemed to have retreated into himself, planning for a threat that wasn't there. 

Ian took special care to move slowly and calmly to put his body between Mickey and the noises in the living room. 

“Let’s go to my room” Ian whispered gently to him. Mickey looked conflicted, as if he couldn't decide what's worse, walking through Ian's house or wherever it was he had come from. Ian's house won. 

He huddled him towards the stairs with a hand on his lower back, keeping his body close and blocking the view of from Fiona and Lip. “It’s just one of my friends, give us a minute please.” he gave the two of them a pleading look as he shadowed mickey up the creaky stairs. 

Once in the safety of his room, with the door locked behind them, Ian saw Mickey’s shoulders drop. Ian guided him again to the bed; He looked annoyed at the mothering but did nothing to push Ian off. Ian turned the lights off in the room; things were always easier for Mickey when the lights were off. 

He gingerly took a seat next to Mickey where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. He let the silence linger for a moment, considering his next move carefully. Mickey needed to say it on his own, couldn't be pushed to a conclusion unless Ian wanted him to shut down, put a clamp over his mouth and feelings like he did when he felt threatened. Instead of speaking, Ian pulled out the first aid kit he kept under his bed and silently asked for Mickey's hand. 

Mickey didn't speak, so Ian didn't either. The only noises that filled the room were the sounds of city coming in from the open window and the occasional hiss from Mickey as Ian got to the cuts on his arm. By the time he finished sub-par first aid (it was hard to patch someone with only the moonlight coming in from the window) neither one of them had said a single word. If Mickey had his way they would probably not talk about it at all, but Ian had about a billion questions running around his mind. He settled for the least intrusive but important one he could think of. 

“Does Mandy know you’re okay?” 

Mandy was Mickey’s person. She and him twisted around each other like ivy, inseparable and in complete understanding of one another. Whatever happened, she needed to know. Mickey shook his head and looked away. 

“Don't tell her. She’s with her friends, don't make her come down here.” he mumbled. _Okay so he talks,_ Ian thought to himself. This was good so far, and Ian tried to prompt more words out of him. 

“Anyone else that needs to know?” He asked. He was supposed to be at his parents, _were they looking for him? Did they know what happened?_ Mickey laughed bitterly and shook his head again. 

“You’re it, Ian.” 

* * *

They ended up not doing much more than just sleeping. They shared the bed and Mickey was long asleep by the time Carl and Liam came into their beds, and they were gone before he was awake. 

He seemed a lot better when he woke up, almost practiced in the way he moved around his injuries. Ian was still hesitant to mention the events of the night prior even though Mickey seemed less shaky now. Just when he was about to open his mouth to ask, noise erupted from downstairs. 

He heard excited chants and “Welcome home”s float up from the stairs. Lip was home. 

Mickey seemed to notice this as well and began gathering his things faster, much to Ian’s panic. He couldn't just let him go in his state, not when he didn't even know if Mickey was safe to leave. He scrambled for a way to make Mickey stay, any excuse he could make so that he wouldn't leave and go back to whatever caused the injuries Ian spent all night worried about. 

“Just- Just stay here, Mickey. Just for a bit, please?” He begged, holding onto his arm to stop his retreat. He seemed hesitant and confused but he also like he didn't want to go, looking at the door like it offended him. 

“Your family is here for the holidays right? I should get goin’ then.” _anything but that._

He gripped more firmly onto Mickey’s arm and put himself between the door and his best friend. “You should stay, for Christmas. With my family.” it was impulsive, but it just might work. 

* * *

Fiona and Lip seemed hesitant. Sure they had heard of Mickey, Ian spoke about him all the time to them, and they had even met him a few times. But having him spend Christmas with them was a big deal; they had limited room and limited resources so inviting yet another person to stay with them would be difficult. 

“He’ll sleep in my bed, and he can help out around the house. Please, guys, I just want him to be here.” Ian pleaded, he just wanted to keep Mickey safe, wanted to keep him close. Fiona grimaced but considered it for a while, looking around the living room at the half-haphazard decorations that had yet to be put up.

“Fine. But he’s your guest, you take care of him.” 

“He’s not a dog Fiona.” Ian said back to her all the while looking like the cat that got the cream. She shrugged and went back to the breakfast she was preparing with a knowing smile. Ian ran upstairs giddily, happy with the news that he got to share with Mickey. Christmas just got so much better. 

Mickey looked startled when Ian slammed the door open, grinning like a maniac. He crossed the room to where Mickey was sitting on the bed playing with his hands and stood in front of him excitedly. 

“Please stay, Mickey. At least for a little bit.” 

“Yeah, fine. If your family doesn't care about me being here.” Mickey shrugged.

“They won't! I already asked. We’re good to go.” Ian grinned even wider. This was shaping up to be the best Christmas in a long time, all of his favorite people in the same house on his favorite holiday. It did nag at the back of his mind why Mickey was able to make this decision so easily, no call to his family or permissions aside from Ian’s own family. He pushed the thought away for later analysis, and took Mickey’s arm to lead him downstairs to which Mickey pushed him off playfully. 

Debbie was serving up the pancakes that Fiona had made and bringing them to the table where everyone was sitting. Upon their arrival all eyes turned to them, and Mickey shrank a little under the weight of their questioning stares. 

Debbie was quick though, picking a plate from the table and holding it out to Mickey who accepted it awkwardly. 

“Welcome to the Gallagher house!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey gets a taste of the Gallagher life

Mickey borrowed some of Ian's clothes but it wouldn't be enough to last him until Christmas, especially considering he didn't have any of his other belongings. However, when Ian suggested they go to Mickey’s house to get his things, he was brought back to the defensive stature that clouded him that morning when Ian started asking questions. Ian  _ burned _ under the weight of his curiosity. 

He was on his way to the kitchen from outside where he was watching over Liam and Franny with Lip when he caught Mickey heading to the door quietly. 

“Where are you going?” He asked loudly and watched as Mickey's shoulders jumped a bit and he turned with a frown.

“M’ gonna go get my stuff. I’ll be back soon.” He grumbled and continued his trek to the door. Ian immediately followed and grabbed onto the door as Mickey opened it. 

“I’ll go too. It's kind of a walk right? I need to get out for a bit.” Mickey squinted at him, reluctant but seemed to sense there wasn't a choice in it and made his way down the porch steps. 

The walk over to the Milkovich house was mostly quiet, only Ians chattering filled the space between them as he recalled memories of his childhood every time they passed by somewhere Ian had explored growing up. Mickey gazed over at him every so often, but his tense nature did not let up and grew the closer they got to the house. He kept peering around like he was watching for someone in particular, eyes hard and focused. 

When they finally arrived at the dark painted house towards the end of the street, Ian stopped speaking. He had never been to Mickey’s house, but it looked a lot like his own. The porch was run down, the door in need of a paint job, the front yard mostly dead and yellow and filled with a few pieces of junk. 

“Wait here.” Mickey said shortly and gave Ian a stern look that just screamed  _ Please behave _ . Ian held up his hands in surrender and resigned himself to shifting his weight awkwardly as he watched Mickey stride up to the door and quietly slip inside. It was not 10 minutes later that Mickey slipped back out with a duffle around his shoulder and an even deeper frown than he walked in with.

“Let’s go.” he mumbled and walked right past Ian and past the open gate. Ian stared at the house for a second more before jogging to catch up with Mickey. 

* * *

Sneaking into the house was not as successful as he hoped it would be. His grandmother and father werent there (probably at the fucking Alibi or wherever it was they spent their toxic mother-son bonding time) but Iggy was was. He looked at Mickey’s fresh bruises with a grimace and a look of sour guilt on his face. It always made Mickey feel a lot of complicated things when one of them was faced with another's injuries. What were you supposed to say?  _ Sorry dad beat the shit out of you but if I said anything he would have done it to me too? _ He wondered if they made Hallmark cards for shit like that. 

He didn't say anything as he made his way up the stairs and packed whatever clean clothes he had in a duffle along with his toothbrush and deodorant. Iggy was still there when he came back down, sitting on the torn up couch looking off into the TV; not really watching. Mickey nodded to him again and headed for the door quickly. 

“Are you coming back soon?” 

Mickey took a moment before answering him, still faced towards the door. 

“... Yeah.” 

Neither one of them said anything else as he shut the door behind him. Ian was waiting at the end of the porch looking like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home from work, it almost made the fact that he was standing in front of Mickey’s house worth it. Almost. 

* * *

Inside the Gallagher house was a bit chaotic when they came through the door, every sibling with different decorations talking over each other trying to decide where to put them. Mickey immediately hopped up the stairs to set his bag down as Ian responded to the scattered hello’s and explanations of what they were doing. 

In the safety of Ian’s room, Mickey could breathe. He set down his things and stood in the middle of the room, listening to the voices from downstairs float through the room. Words and laughs and everything in sharp contrast to where he came from. No one walked on eggshells here, no pretending they didn't see black eyes or bloody noses. It was a jump for Mickey, going from one type of defensive to the next. 

He feared for his life back at his house, but he feared something else entirely here. He was welcome in the Gallagher house because Ian vouched for him, but it was only a matter of time before they realized he was nothing like what Ian made him out to be. It was still a fucking mystery what ian saw in him, why he insisted in keeping him close, but his family would not be as blinded. They would see him for what he really was and they would not want him there, invading their home, their lives, their  _ family _ . 

It became a little hard to breathe and the room seemed a tad too small. The voices from downstairs seemed less warm and inviting and more accusing.  _ They know you don't belong here. They’re gonna to find out. They are going to hate you. You have to leave before they see. _ Mickey didn't even think to pick up the duffel bag, simply crossing the room hurriedly and making his way down the steps two at a time. 

He was stopped in his tracks by the youngest- Franny- who was standing at the foot of the last step, looking up at him expectantly. She was holding white printer paper and a pair of scissors, held with the blade towards him, a focused look on her young face. 

“Snowflakes.” Is all she said as she held the scissors up to him. He looked around the living room for guidance but everyone else seemed busy putting up decorations to see what was happening at the bottom of the stairs. He looked back down at her and nodded dumbly, taking the scissors as she nodded back and turned and walked determinedly to the kitchen table. He looked around again before following her hesitantly into the kitchen. 

Franny was sitting on one of the chairs, holding a piece of paper and looking at Mickey all exasperated like he should know what she wanted, and repeated, “Snowflakes” while pointing at the scissors. Mickey looked down at them and then back to her,  _ Snowflakes? _

“You cut the paper into snowflakes, you fold it and cut it.” She said like it was obvious and began folding her paper. Mickey followed her motions and did the same to his when she started cutting into hers with kid scissors.

“Now cut tri’ngles.” she demanded, making snipping motions with her little fingers. So Mickey did. He followed her instructions slowly and carefully, and for a little kid, she gave good directions. When she was satisfied with the cuts he had made into the paper she held her hand out for it. She unfolded hers to show a somewhat complicated design cut into the white paper, however when she opened his it looked a lot jankier. He cringed internally at the fact that a little kid made a better craft project than him. 

He’d never cut snowflakes out of paper, so sue him. 

“Yours is not good, Mickey.” She said bluntly. 

“Uh- yeah. Sorry” 

“Its ‘k, you can do better on the next one.” She handed him a new piece of paper. For some reason Mickey felt determined to prove to his 6 year old that he could cut pretty lines into printer paper, and so he did. 

By the time Ian came wandering in, they had a sizable pile of paper snowflakes and had made amicable conversation about how snowflakes were all different and Mickey did his best to actually explain how they were formed in words that a kid would understand. She asked about the tattoo’s on his knuckles and he told her the story of how his friends had convinced him to get them on his 14th birthday. 

He talked to her like he talked to Ian (with a lot less curse words) because he wasn't sure how you were supposed to talk to kids, but she seemed to enjoy it. She kinda reminded him of Ian with her red hair and her blunt way of looking at things. He thought to himself that she may be his favorite little kid he’s met so far. 

“What are you guys working on in here?” Ian asked in a light voice. He seemed to be glowing, warm and at peace, submerged in the look that he got every time he spoke about his family. Mickey could understand why. It was very warm here.

“Im making snowflakes with Mickey. He was really bad at it but I taught ‘im” she grinned. 

“He was bad at it?” Ian laughed and she nodded, holding up one of the first ones he made; it was all lopsided and half of the paper got cut so that it came apart and did not look at all like a snowflake. 

“have you never made a snowflake before Mick?” Ian teased as he took the sad piece of paper and inspected it. 

“No, I haven't, thank you very much.” He sniffed. 

“Not even in school?” 

“Was too busy terrorizing the other kids and skipping class to do shi-stuff like that” Mickey supplied. 

“I wanna do that! I wanna be like Mickey.” Franny said excitedly and Mickey looked at her strangely.

“Why in the fu- world would you want to do that?” Mickey retorted. Was this kid nuts?

“‘Cause you’re cool.”

“Yeah Mick, ‘cause you're cool.” Ian parroted happily.  _ These two fucking clowns. _

“Whatever. Lets just go put these up, or whatever you do with them” Mickey tried to direct their attention to anything but him, feeling the heat in his cheeks rise higher. Ian laughed again and scooped up the pile as Mickey and Franny followed him out to the living room. The tension from earlier was gone, his mind only full of paper snowflakes. 

* * *

Another thing the Gallaghers seemed well versed in was family dinners. Sometimes Mickey would eat breakfast with his family members if they got up at the same time but they never organized a time to sit down with each other and talk like the Gallaghers did. But here Mickey was, sitting awkwardly, passing plates every once in a while, listening to them talking about their days. 

Ian was talking about some of his classes, describing every professor and how they taught, when the attention was turned on Mickey. 

“And me and Mickey both have Mr. Simmons, he’s good at art but not very good at teaching it.” he explained and laughed a bit while looking at Mickey. Suddenly the eyes at the table shifted from Ian to Mickey, and he shied a bit under the attention. 

“What do you study Mickey?” Fiona asked politely. 

“Uh- Engineering.” He replied slowly, brain still processing that they were talking to him. Lip looked over at him with interest, those inquisitive eyes focusing on him sharply. 

“Robotics?” 

“Medical.” Lip nodded and tilted his head a bit as if he was evaluating him. Mickey decided in that moment that he didn't like being looked at like that by Lip, like he had figured out something new. But he smirked approvingly and Mickey felt strangely like he had won something. 

“Yeah Mickey’s like- super smart. He even works in the library and everything, it's like having another Lip around.” Ian laughed. 

“You know I wouldn't take you for a secret nerd, but now I can kinda see it.” Debbie laughed too. Mickey felt more like he was being laughed at then laughed with, and he shifted with the familiar itch creeping underneath his skin. Ian, the mind reader he was, always so fucking attuned to Mickey, looked over. He knew Ian felt his uncomfortable smile, knew he sensed the shift like he always does. 

“Don't let him fool you though. He’s a real badass. One time he beat the crap out of a guy who had been following girls from my work around. Always hanging around after closing and so Mickey stayed the  _ whole _ day so that he could look after the girls when they left. And when the guy showed up Mickey met him out there, and he hasn't been back since. He’s like our unofficial bodyguard; half the girls there are like,  _ in love _ with him.” Ian boasted like it was him who did it. Mickey blushed at the mention of what he’d done. He had just been so fucking furious that the guy was sniffing around his sister and her friends that he needed to make a point to him and anyone else that was thinking of doing shit like that. Besides, any reason to show off to Ian was well worth it. It didn't hurt that he got free coffee from then on, and the girls called him  _ Mick _ all soft and happy when he came in. 

“Thats fucking cool.” Carl interjected and Mickey nodded stiffly and tried to not smile at the compliment. Not many people called him  _ cool _ , besides Ian. 

Ian smiled over at him all mooney and bright,  _ see what I did? _ Mickey's heart brimmed with affection and appreciation. 

_ A real knight in shining fucking armor.  _

He smiled, small and hesitant through the rest of dinner. They asked him questions easily, and he responded as best he could, Ian filling in the gaps here and there. When the meal was done and Mickey was helping to take dishes into the kitchen he glanced out the window.

It was raining, but no one seemed to mind. 


End file.
